


i'm a chickadee in love with the sky

by CCs_World



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, It's sappy, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, No beta we fall like Crowley, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), One Shot, Other, Romance, Trans Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24172207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCs_World/pseuds/CCs_World
Summary: When a six-year-old Azira Fell entered his second year classroom in primary school, he of course noticed the way the classroom changed colors, giving a little gasp as suddenly the world grew so much brighter, so much louder, so much more vibrant, but there were so many children there — anyone could be his soulmate. Nobody else had seemed to react, though. How odd.He found his way to sit beside a red-haired boy, who gave him a grin. “‘M Tony,” the boy said.“I’m Azira,” he replied. “‘S nice to meet you.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 199





	i'm a chickadee in love with the sky

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys i saw a buttercup in my backyard so i wrote an entire fic based around one scene that popped into my head. please enjoy this unedited brainchild of mine, i spent no time on it at all
> 
> title is from "honey and the bee" by owl city which is a v cute song which i now associate with this au i have created

The notoriously wealthy Fell family never put much stock in soulmates. Sure, they existed, of course, but were they really necessary? Wasn’t it better to marry for money and status and stability?

Even as a child, Azira had disagreed. Soulmates were such a wonderful and romantic thing; he found the idea charming and captivating. He wanted to find his soulmate. He wanted to fall in love, to have his own story to tell. He wanted to see the world the way people in love did — in full color, bright and vivid and loud. He wanted to see yellows that burst in his vision, blues deeper than the night, greens sparking with life.

When a six-year-old Azira Fell entered his second year classroom in primary school, he of course noticed the way the classroom changed colors, giving a little gasp as suddenly the world grew so much brighter, so much louder, so much more vibrant, but there were so many children there — anyone could be his soulmate. Nobody else had seemed to react, though. How odd.

He found his way to sit beside a red-haired boy, who gave him a grin. “‘M Tony,” the boy said.

“I’m Azira,” he replied. “‘S nice to meet you.”

Tony had wrinkled his little freckled nose. “I guess. D’you want to play with me at recess? We can play pretend pirates!”

“That sounds fun,” Azira had said, beaming back, and thus a fast friendship was made.

* * *

Over the next few years, Az and Tony spent most of their time together. The two children would have sleepovers, usually at Az’s very large house, as Tony’s home was too small and crowded to host sleepovers very often. Az learned quite a bit about Tony the more time they spent together.

Tony, he’d discovered, was the second youngest in a very large family. None of the children shared the same father, and all of them lived in a small flat in a rather shady part of town with their frequently absent mother. More often than not, Tony was watched by his older siblings, and he in turn helped to watch the baby.

Tony’s mother could not afford a lot of nice things for them, so he wore clothing from charity shops or handed down from his older siblings. His older sister would cut his hair, but would rarely do a good job of it. He was frequently scraped up from incidents with one of his big brothers, which he brushed off as friendly wrestling, but which Az often wondered about.

Tony did not have a television, nor did he have a lot of books. But he had paper and pencils aplenty, and he used them to their full potential, creating elaborate drawings and illustrations which left Azira in awe, and which Tony himself was very proud of.

When Tony was not at home watching his baby sister or being picked on by his older siblings, though, he was always found with Az. The two of them were thick as thieves, and would nearly always be seen playing in the meadow by the playground, imagining they were pirates or knights or action-movie heros.

Now we see them, playing together in the meadow in the summertime, four years after they met. One of them is ten, the other is nine. Az, the older one with blond curls, picks a bright yellow flower. “Look, Tony, a buttercup! Did you know, if you hold it under your chin and your chin turns yellow it means someone loves you?”

Tony scoffs. He is dirty, his shaggy red hair unruly, his charity-shop clothes rumpled. “That’s stupid, Az. They reflect onto everyone’s chin.”

“Well, I think that’s just swell,” Az replies. His own hair and much nicer clothing is immaculate — as immaculate as a child can keep it, that is. “See, that means that everyone is loved!”

Tony scoffs again, wrinkling up his nose. “Not me. Nobody loves me.”

There is a brief pause. The birds continue to sing. Bees continue to buzz. “I love you,” Az says, in the innocent way that any child can say it.

Tony shrugs.

“Put it under your chin,” Az insists. His pudgy hand thrusts the flower towards his friend.

Tony sighs but obeys. “Bet it’s yellow.”

“It is,” Az beams.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Load of rubbish, anyway,” he declares. “It’s science. Something to do with light. Course my chin turned yellow.”

“Not rubbish,” Azira insists. “Means I love you. Or someone does.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Tony grumbles, and then he shoves Az down into the grass and takes off running, and Az, laughing, gets up and runs after him.

* * *

They’re teenagers now, fourteen and fifteen. Tony has begun calling Azira “Angel” now, once Azira took him on a trip to a museum and Tony saw a painting of an angel who looked just like him. It has become something of an inside joke between them, two best friends against the world. 

It’s a warm July day, and Azira and Tony are sitting in the park eating ice cream. The birds are singing and the sky is blue. Everything seems perfectly lovely.

Out of nowhere, Az sighs. His blue eyes are sad.

“Something’s wrong,” Tony points out. “Tell me, angel.”

Az sighs again. “My parents are sending me to a boarding school,” he says. “When school starts again, I’m not going to see you until next summer.”

“What?” Tony exclaims, his freckled face the picture of horror.

“I don’t _want_ to go,” Az says dejectedly. “I don’t want to leave my home. I like school just how it is right now. I like being with you. You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” Tony says. “Why do you have to go, angel? Don’t you get a choice?”

“My parents say I have to. I have to be with students like me.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Tony frowns.

Az looks away. “Not people like you. You know. Poor people.”

Tony frowns. “‘M not poor.”

“You are, though. That’s why we’re different. My father says that I should be among people who are like me. We’re very different, Tony, of course you know that.” He gives Tony a look of pity so strong that Tony recoils. “I’m going to miss you, of course. But my father says I should get used to being with people who have manners and status.”

“I’m not,” Tony declares. “I’m not going to miss you at all.” He stands up. “In fact — I don’t want to see you anymore this summer, or even any summer after. I’m not different from you at all. We’re the same, but of course you don’t care. You can go have fun with your — your — fancy rich kids and your fancy rich school, and when I’m here at home with the _poor kids_ I won’t even think about you!”

“Tony, you’re being stupid!” Az exclaims as Tony storms off.

He doesn’t get a reply.

Rain does not fall. Wind does not blow. Clouds do not cover the sun. But that day, the world dims for Az anyway as the colors fade back to their original dull state, and of course it’s then that he realizes who Tony is to him. _The Fells do not marry their soulmates, Azira,_ his father has told him over and over. _The Fells marry those who benefit them most. The Fells marry people of status, people of money. Remember Azira, soulmates are for those who do not wish to choose. Soulmates are for the unintelligent, wretched masses. We are above them._

Azira does not call after Tony. He does not do what every cell in his body screams for him to do. He does not run after his soulmate, he does not beg for a second chance, he does not apologize.

Instead, he resigns himself to a life of lonely wealth and dull colors. Just like his father wants of him.

* * *

Twenty years later, Az is stocking shelves in his newly acquired bookshop, inherited from an eccentric uncle who needed someone to take over his shop once he grew too ill to run it anymore. It is, in Az’s opinion, a far better option than taking over his father’s law business. He left that duty to his older siblings, Gabriel and Michael. Az finds law quite dull, in fact, and not at all stimulating or enjoyable. He much prefers books over barristers.

The bell over his shop door dings. “Oh, I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed,” he says without turning.

“Az?”

Az’s bookshop bursts into a cacophony of colors. The gold on the cover of the antique book he holds glimmers, the reds and browns of the leather covers on the shelves suddenly deep and vivid. Hues he hasn’t seen in decades return to his vision.

He gasps and drops the book he’s holding as he turns around so fast he nearly gets whiplash. “Tony!” he gasps.

“Thought it was you,” Tony says, deceptively casual. “I mean, I don’t know anyone else named Az Fell, so I assumed the shop was yours.”

“Tony, oh my god,” Az breathes, rushing to meet his childhood friend. “It’s been so long.”

Tony looks different now, but of course it has been over two decades since they saw each other. Tony's hair hangs to his shoulders, red and vibrant. His eyes, which Az knows are a beautiful amber color, are hidden behind round sunglasses. Tony dresses smartly in black clothing and tight trousers, and his posture is different now too, more confident. He stands with his fingers in shallow pockets, one hip cocked, long legs elegant and lovely.

“Hey, Angel,” Tony says, and _oh,_ his voice has changed so much, too. It’s deeper now, lower, and it rasps in his lungs with a unique timbre. “How’d that fancy boarding school work out for you? Still above the poor folk?”

He’s joking, probably, but his words stab Az in the heart. “I’m… oh, Tony, I was so awful to you when we were children.”

“Was a long time ago,” Tony shrugs. “Most people call me Crowley now, by the way. And, erm...” There’s a pause. “The, uh. Pronouns changed too. It’s they and them now.”

“Oh — oh, Crowley, I’m —”

“Not you, though,” Tony says quickly, before Az can make a fool of himself, “you can call me Tony. Known each other forever, yeah? You get privileges.”

Azira smiles shakily up at him. “Thank you, Tony.” He sighs. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much. I hope you can forgive me for what I said back then.”

“Already been forgiven, Angel.” Tony grins. “Is it just me, or are your eyes _really, really_ blue?”

Azira blushes.

“And your face is _very_ red,” Tony teases.

“Oh, stop it, you,” Azira grumbles.

There’s a beat. “You… you get what I’m trying to say, right?” Tony asks, slow and nervous.

Azira shivers. “Yes,” he murmurs. He stares resolutely at the floor.

“And you… you see it too?”

Azira’s eyes find Tony’s. “Yes,” he whispers.

Tony steps closer. They’re eye to eye now. “And you’re… alright?”

“Yes,” Azira breathes.

Tony leans in close. “Can I…”

Azira closes the gap, kissing them softly, and then rocks back on his heels with pink cheeks and a joyful little smile. “Yes,” he says happily.

“I always knew it was you,” Tony says, taking Az’s hands in their own, turning away to put their angular face in sharp profile. “I always knew. From the moment you walked into the classroom in second year.”

“I didn’t know until… oh, Tony, until that day in the park, where I insulted you and you left. The world went grey and I knew.”

Tony takes in a shuddering breath. “Why didn’t you come after me?”

“I was scared,” Az admits. “My father had drilled into my mind that my family did not marry their soulmates or have anything to do with them. He told me I must marry for money and status and prestige.”

“Ah,” Tony says.

“But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since,” Az continues. “I did well in university, and in graduate school, but my father offered me the family business and, well…” He sighs. “I just _couldn’t_ live the way he did. All… bland, and boring, and snobbish. I took over my uncle’s bookshop here in Soho, and… that was that. I… I was hoping you’d come,” he confesses. “I was hoping you’d find me.”

“I did,” Tony says, their grin back on their face. “I found you. I’m so… Angel, I’m so _happy_ I found you.” They kiss him again. “My soulmate.”

“My love,” Az smiles, and folds Tony into his arms in a warm embrace. “I’m so happy you found me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave kudos and a comment if u liked this and definitely come yell at me on tumblr @morosexual-aziraphale if u want!


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